Murderous mood

I shouldn’t murder my sister
The imaginary one, of course
She was nice and we had great conversations
The white walls were always her inspiration
She would paint horses
Talking horses, at least that was my impression
They had verses around their mouths
I remember asking her if they could fly
She leant her head to the right
Like a painter
No, that is a cliche
It is enough that rhymes are hanging from their snort
And then, just then I killed her
I wasn’t furious or frustrated or anything
Only that her imagination was tight around  my skin

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1 Response to Murderous mood

  1. Thank you, Jamie Dedes!

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